


Stone Shadows

by theimaginesyouneveraskedfor



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, The Hobbit - Freeform, for real, i hope y'all enjoy another series of hate to kinda tolerance to acceptance to yada yada, let's see if i can actually follow through tho, like I'm not kidding, this is intended to be the slowest of burns, warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-09-14 23:18:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16922325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor/pseuds/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor
Summary: Synopsis: Enezra is the last of her kind, or at least, the last she knows of. She lives a life of isolation underground but one day, her solitary is interrupted by and unexpected visitor.





	1. ONE | ENEZRA

**Author's Note:**

> So, I had written about twenty chapters of this a few years ago and lost it all as my hard drive crashed. I have it all mapped out and I’m ready to travel this road again so here we go.
> 
> I would love any and all feedback as I really do like this series but I don’t want to rewrite a whole fic for nothing. Thanks to any and all who read and hopefully I can hop back in and get this going.

Slate walls conjured visions of dark spectres. The dearth of natural light cast the cavernous underground in onerous black. The utter gloom of the tunnels was suffocating and one was easily lost in the murk.

Enezra felt her way through the shadows, cold fingertips numb against the dimple stone walls. Though she could barely see in the endless dusk, she could trace it as clearly in her mind as if she could. For so long as she had lived below, it had altered her senses to that akin to a sightless bat.

In the northeastern corridors of the tunnels, the air was bitterly cold and one’s breath coated their lips with frost. No season but winter touched those parts and there, one was safe from all but snow wolves. The creatures were easily evaded if one knew the character of their genus but dangerous when happened upon.

Enezra was a small creature herself. Even in the stunted corridors she was but a mouse in a field. Her hands were wrapped in woolen strips, baring only her fingertips for dexterity; her head hidden beneath the fur of a small animal, the colour so faded that its species was indiscernible; a threadbare scarf was tucked beneath her chin and her patched grey cloak hung to her knees, the hem uneven and unravelled. Her thin-soled boots padded along the stony ground, the only noise in the static tunnels. Her solace was her safety. Alone she was at peace. Alone she could not be harmed.

If it were told true, she had little choice in her isolation.

The tunnels had served as her refuge, a haven from those who would see her dead. From those who had taken from her all that she had lived for. If she were forced to survive without them, she would at least do so upon her own accord.

The silence of the corridors was thin, icy, and impenetrable. Until it wasn’t.

The clangour of rocks tumbling in a landslide came from a distant corner. That it was near enough to be heard was unsettling. It was not so rare that a tunnel should collapse, but it was the suddenness which was unusual. A tremble was often the precursor, enough to prepare one, and then the crack which announced the avalanche.

Yet there was more. As the rock settled, the noise did not. The movement of a living being, maybe two, followed. So foreign that it stilled Enezra’s heart. So frightened was she that her chest dared not beat and her blood felt as if it had ceased flowing. Like the air around her, she stood frozen, her hand against the wall in a tableau of terror.

Whatever had caused the calamity could not be left undiscovered. As much as she longed to flee further north, the south called. Slowly, her sense returned to her and she dropped her arm to feel for the old, unhoned blade she kept on her hip.

It was a moment before her legs reacted. One foot in front of the other, she crept down the corridor, the furor growing until it stopped all at once. The silence which followed was like cracked glass waiting to shatter. Yet no further disturbance sounded from the south.

Still, Enezra stayed on her path. The racket may have died but the beating of her heart had returned threefold. Until she uncovered the source of the tumult, she could not rest. She would assure herself that the adrenaline brimming in her veins was for not and once more wander the corridors mindlessly. Alone.

As she neared a rock clattered across the ground in a cacophony, a sigh came deafeningly from the next cavern, assuring her that it was more than a nightmare. The subtle utterance was terrifying. It had cut through the thin shield of her solitary.

Enezra pressed herself against the wall, edging closer against her fears, her pointed nose the first to turn the corner. A shadow awaited her in the stony corridor, outlined by slivers of earthly light peering in from above. The ceiling laid upon the ground in a pile of shale and among its ruins, stood a broad-shouldered figure.

The  intruder looked around, his back to her, and a lifeless form laid at his feet in a spreading puddle of blood. The coarse features and grey palour of the corpse was that of an orc and she couldn’t help but be relieved that the beast was slain. Yet this stranger who had caused its demise worried her more so. He was still alive. He was still a threat.

The scene foretold of a struggle between the long-haired figure standing before her and the dead orc across the stone. The stranger, two-heads shorter than most, possessed the thick-limbs and stout bearing of a dwarf. An ax caught Enezra’s gaze. And a sword. His hands were mailed as a warrior’s would be.

Wary of his warlike attire, she backed away carefully as the stranger began to turn, his profile bared to her just as she made to conceal herself. His nose was aquiline but thick, his beard well-trimmed, and his long hair in tangles down his shoulders and back. There was an austerity to expression, underlined by a furrow of discontent. Confusion at his new surroundings.

Before Enezra could hide herself entirely, her toe met with a stray pebble and she tightened her hold on her knife. The light skipping of the stone was thunderous in the silence and she held her breath as she cowered against the wall. She listened to the cautious footsteps of the dwarf, waiting for him to discover her. Knowing that she was to be caught out, Enezra drew her blade and leapt out from behind the corner, pointing the steel towards the dwarf in meek defense. He stopped just inches from its tip and his knuckles whitened around the haft of his ax.

“You,” Enezra’s voice was high and she forced it down an octave, “Who are you? What business do you have in these caves?”

“What business have you?” The dwarf echoed with impunity, “And who are you to question my title?”

“You trespass,” Enezra accused, “These caves are not the home of dwarves. So I ask again, who are you and what is your purpose here?”

“I am Thorin, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror, King Under the Mountain,” He announced himself as if he sat upon his throne, “So now you should answer me, who are you to question my title?”


	2. Thorin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin finds himself lost.

It was an ambush. There had been rumours of orcs remaining in the lands around Erebor since the battle. Thus, the party of dwarves should not have been surprised to find themselves at odds with a horde of orcs. Thorin Oakenshield, leading his men on a hunting trip, had found himself and his dwarves run well off the beaten path. Their game had drawn them beyond their purview and their enemy had chased them further away.

* * *

 

The dwarves were outnumbered by double their half-dozen. Dwalin had been the one to call for arms. Age had yet to dull his keen ears. Weapons were drawn as their foes appeared from behind the crags. The orcs bore down on the dwarves quickly, arrows barely missing their targets.

Thorin’s ax was easily freed from his back, his sword untouched at his hip. This was a fight of strength; of brutality. Even with the heavy battle ax weighing him down, he was agile. Against this enemy, defense was not so preferable to offense.

His ax shattered the dull scimitar of the first orc; their weapons worn and taken from lesser adversaries. Those innocents they preyed on. The wispy-haired orc recoiled, only a pommel left to protect itself. The king’s second blow rained down on the orc’s skull, leaving only what hair graced its head and strips of flesh along the shattered bone.

Another was quick to follow his fallen comrade. Thorin kept time with the steady battle around him. The beating of metal upon metal; steel versus steel. A deathly dance between dwarf and orc. Dodging under the blade of his new foe, Thorin spun away finding himself separated from the rest of of his party. The orc’s crooked rapier descended on him and he batted it away. He parried quickly, blood spraying across his cheek as he sliced from shoulder to hip.

“Dwalin,” He called to his companion as he met with his own adversary, “Bring our dwarves back to the Mountain. Should we find ourselves apart, I shall meet you there.”

Dwalin hesitated but returned a look of understanding; reluctant obedience. His king was much too reckless for his tastes. He had foreseen Thorin’s death much too often. He could recall then the duel with Azog which had nearly cost the king his life and his people their home. He had defied fate then but it was not so easily held off again.

Thorin found himself further from his party as another orc advanced upon him. He was reminded of the one-armed orc whom he had faced previously. The desperate struggle he had faced; which had nearly cost him all. He almost faltered at the thought. If he was further divided from his comrades, he would find himself once more at odds with his mortality. He could not hold them off forever. He was no fool either, he knew there were more orcs hiding around these lands.

He could not die here in the plains. Not at the hands of these vile creatures. He was the King of Erebor; he was sworn to lead his people and that he would do until his natural death and not before. He kept his foe at a distance as he observed his position; his dwarves were retreating as he had ordered, further from him by the second. There was forest not far to the east, the north held a caves hidden beneath the stout crags. Not many knew of those passages and those who did, dared not to traverse them. They were old and labyrinthine; the seers said they were cursed and the wise knew they were prone to collapse.

Yet, if Thorin kept to the shallow tunnels he could wait out his enemy. It would offer him a better chance than to face them endlessly. Reinforcements would not be long away. With a final strike which had his foe reeling but not defeated, Thorin made his decision. He set off for the crags, listening for the pursuit of the orc.

He looked ahead to the north-eastern mouth of the caverns and his heart leapt. He had never before descended into their heart. As a dwarfling learning his maps, he had been warned against it. No race, dwarf, elf, even orc, dared to venture into the underground. Those who did, rarely returned. And those who did emerge, were not the same. The tunnels were home only to those long thought extinct.

A panting not his own sounded from behind him. Footsteps echoed his own and steel clattered against mail. He pursuer was not far. Thorin hoped the caves would deter the orc, at least confuse him enough to dispose of him. With a final prayer to Mahal, Thorin entered the cave, his feet sending stone flying as he kept his speed.

He kept note of the tunnels arms, the light from without dimming with each step. The second right, and then a left, another right, a left down the third cavern from there. He repeated the pattern in his head so that he could find his out when the time came. The air grew colder the deeper he got and he shivered as he heard his foe follow.

Thorin slid to a halt as rocks blocked his path. A dead end. The passage had long since collapsed and left him no escape. He turned as footsteps neared, bracing for his adversary who arrived much sooner than expected. His ax caught the orc’s first blow, one so hard it had Thorin down on a knee. Ax and sword trembled against each other, blade sliding along his handle until the dwarf was force to slip away, knocking back the orc’s sword.

The orc pulled back but his blade bounced along the wall, the space tighter than he thought. Sword held back the ax’s next attack but barely. Thorin spun and aimed another strike, his dark hair fanning out around him. Steel clanged in an even rhythm as the enemies contended in the cramped corridor, grunts marking each thrust and parry.

Thorin’s foot caught one of the stones at the base of the collapse. He stumbled but recovered, barely dodging a slice along his chest. Another slid unnoticed at the disturbance but neither adversary could be bothered at the risk of their own life. Another rolled down the pile, and another, and the floor began to shift. But dwarf and orc would not have known as theystepped around the other, fighting to keep the other’s blade from their flesh.

The tension between life and death built. The cold air thickening as both foes felt the heat of fatality bearing down on them. And suddenly, the balance broke. It crumbled the floor beneath them, burdened by the weight of boulder and the fracas atop it. The orc was the first to fall and Thorin descended with him, tumbling as he remained wary of the orc’s sword which was dangerously close to his mail.

The orc slammed down onto the scatter of rocks which had preceded him. His sword was knocked loose by the collision and Thorin was saved only by the cushion of his battered foe. He landed with a thud which knocked the wind from him. He rolled from atop the orc and wheezed, struggling to find his breath. Slowly, he regained his bearing and rose with help of his ax.

The orc’s hand twitched and it weakly searched for its weapon. Thorin approached, kicking away the discarded blade though his enemy couldn’t rise if he wanted to. Blood flowed from its form along the rocks below it and the dwarf king approached solemnly.  _Make it quick_ , the orc’s eyes pled and the dwarf obliged. His ax blackened the light of the creature’s existence with a squelch.

Thorin removed his blade from the orc and turned to look around the cavern. This was exactly what he had feared. The underground. The ceiling was open from the avalanche but allowed no light. His eyes could barely take in much as adrenaline cooled in his veins. He couldn’t see more than the corpse before him and the shadows closing in. He sighed bleakly.

A rock skittered and he gripped his ax tighter. His breath formed a cloud in the air before it caught in his chest. He turned and kept his blade ready.He inched forward, trying to see through the darkness. He swallowed as he neared the direction of the disturbance, certain he’d have to face some beast of the deep.

Steel pierced the air once more and he caught himself before he could walk straight into the short blade of a dagger. He squinted at the small figure before him as she held him at bay with her pathetic weapon. Her jade eyes shone in the grey of the caves, her hand steady and taught with fear as she pointed her knife at him.

“You,” Her voice was a sharp squeak but came more even with her next words, “Who are you? What business do you have in these caves?”

“What business have you?” Thorin demanded. “And who are you to question my title?”

“You trespass,” She accused, “These caves are not the home of dwarves. So I ask again, who are you and what is your purpose here?”

“I am Thorin, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror, King Under the Mountain,” He introduced himself boldly, “So now you should answer me, who are you to question my title?”

“I…” She began tritely, “Am the keeper of these caves and you are in my home. This is not your mountain, dwarf. This is greenling territory and I am bound to my people to keep it thus.”


	3. Enezra/Thorin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwarf meets Greenling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love any and all feedback as I really do like this series but I don’t want to rewrite a whole fic for nothing. Thanks to any and all who read and hopefully I can hop back in and get this going.

**THREE | ENEZRA**

“Greenling?” The dwarf scoffed. “You’re nothing more than confused halfling.”

“You are kin to those people who chased my people from their homes. You would deny my existence for fear of retribution,” Enezra kept her knife pointed at him, “Those who’ve dealt injustice rarely admit it, even to themselves.”

“As I recall, it was the elves who should atone for the culling of the greenlings,” He countered, “And they’ve since then committed similar crimes against my people.”

“Yet, those days when elf and dwarf were allied cannot be so easily forgotten for further betrayal. I seek not vengeance, only to warn you. These tunnels are dangerous. They hold only darkness and death. Linger and you will perish.”

“Believe me, if I had the choice I would not,” He grumbled and slowly lowered his ax, turning to sigh listlessly at the mountain of stone behind him. “It seems my way in cannot be my way out.”

“So it would,” Enezra hesitantly rescinded her knife. She was almost insulted that the dwarf was so unconcerned by her. “But I wouldn’t expect you alone to find another. One is easily lost down here. Trust me at that.”

“Trust you? You who comes to me with bared steel.” He turned back to her.

“One who possesses an ax such as that should not be so worried,” She sheathed her knife at her belt, “But should you hold it against me, I should rescind my offer.”

“Offer?” He pondered.

“Yes, I was trying to offer you a way out. In return, you will promise to never return and never reveal my existence or that of these tunnels to any other.” She crossed her arms beneath her patched cloak, “Or you can find your own way out and hope the frost wolves don’t sniff you out.”

“Is that your only condition? That I not return to this miserable place?” He grunted as he secured his ax across his back. He pulled his thick cloak around him as he lowered his arms and shivered. “Even in daylight, I have no skill in navigation…I would accept the offer on my own self-preservation.”

“I must warn you that these tunnels are perilous and the way out is far. These caves are inhospitable and the cold should only get worse when the night comes. With the moon, comes the frost wolves.”

“I haven’t much choice,” He shrugged, his nose was already red from the chill, “I shall accept your aid but I don’t do so lightly. You claim the blood of those long dead and you foretell of death in the same breath that you offer salvation. Should this be some trick, my ax will not be sheathed so easily.”

“Were it not for my own conscience, I would happily leave you here upon your own whims,” She said, her tone more frigid than the caverns.

A howl followed from the distance, a portent of doom which frightened both dwarf and greenling. In that moment, they commiserated. A wolf was close enough to be heard; close enough to seek them out.

“We must go,” Enezra warned, “Dusk will soon be upon us and the night’s creatures not far behind.”

“How can you tell?” Thorin japed, “It is so dark here, it is a wonder time should even pass.”

“Time has little meaning down here,” She muttered grimly, turning back to the corridor she had come from, “I must be away however. I shall not wait for you further.”

She set off down the cavern and heard him follow, nearly frightened as he came up beside her in the narrow corridor. “Can we not light a torch?” He asked, his fingertips feeling along the stone as hers did, “I haven’t the sight for such lowlight.”

Enezra frowned. She was not used to company. The dwarf’s voice was deep and dampened the air. It carried too far for her liking. Her own voice was disused and she wasn’t so used to hearing much more than the wind and wolves. “Keep your voice down,” She said sharply, “It will draw the beast closer.”

* * *

**THORIN**

Thorin followed the small woman through the stony passes. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was truly what she claimed.  Greenlings had long since been forgotten to the annals of history, not that the books held much of their plight at that. Yet, she was too small to be a dwarf and not quite hairy enough; at least from what he could see of her through the dark. She was almost too dainty to be of the hobbit variety and was rather far from home if she were. 

But he couldn’t be sure. Her jade eyes seemed to glow in the dark, the only colour amidst the grey. And she seemed to have no trouble seeing through the shadows. As he pondered her peculiar bearing and feel for the dark, he struggled himself to see past his nose. She herself walked the caves as if she were a part of them.  _Could she truly be the last of her kind?_

She twisted and turned along the corridors, so quickly that he almost lost step with her a couple times. He was nearly walking into walls and tripping over chunks of stone. He was tempted to ask her if they could strike a torch once more but her first answer wasn’t encouraging. He had made it this far without, he could make it a little further.

She stopped suddenly and once more he stumbled. She shoved her raw fingertips into a nook hidden in the stone wall. Slowly, with a low grunt, she dislodged an unseen door. She pushed it inward, moving it with a strength unexpected of her stature. She stepped back and looked at him expectantly.

“Hurry, before the fire dies completely,” A low orange glow came from within.

She followed him inside, replacing the stone door with his help though she seemed bothered even by that. She flitted past him and began rushing around the chamber. She took a log from a stack beside the hearth, the embers almost dead. She stoked it caringly as Thorin was relieved for the change in lighting. A flame caught and the fire began to crackle as she stood.

Thorin glanced around the small chamber. A stone ledge protruded from the wall, acting as a table. A stack of books and row of scrolls rested atop it. Everything was cluttered as the cramped space foretold a lengthy habitation. A bedroll was spread in the corner, offering little cushion against the cave floor. A single lantern sat beside the resting spot and the small woman scooped it up.

She lit it and hung it from a hook on the far wall, giving a little more light to the room. It was much warmer here than without. She unclasped the patched hide cloak around her shoulders and hung it on another peg just beside the door. Thorin stepped aside as he watched her.

She removed her hat, unveiling bright red curls and her eyes were even more striking. Her skin was a tawny brown and her chin as pointed as her small nose.

“I’ve told you my name,” He commented, finding his voice. It felt a sin to break the fragile silence. “But you’ve yet to tell me yours.”

She looked to him, almost surprised. She drew her brows together as she considered him. “Enezra,” She answered softly, “But I prefer Ez.”

“Ez,” He repeated, “How long have you lived down here?”

“Long,” Was her short answer as she turned back to her table. She uncapped a canister and smelled the contents, “I was out to catch my dinner. Of course, that plan went to dirt.” She looked at him, though she seemed reluctant to do so, “Do you like tea? I might have some dried hare around here we can chew on.” She took the kettle from beside the hearth and hung it over the fire, “Maybe some nuts…maybe not.”

“Whatever you can offer, I am grateful,” Thorin said. He could sense her distrust of him yet she still offered her hospitality. In his culture, that was a sign of honour. “I should happily accept your tea.”

He reached up and undid his own cloak as the warmth gathered under it. He watched Ez as she searched through a small chest in another corner, pulling out a small sachet and smiling in triumph. She took a small bowl and poured out some nuts, offering him them with a small nod. He took them with a gratuity and stepped further from the door. He could not wait to be free of this place but this odd creature before him was his only hope.


	4. Enezra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ez and Thorin begin their trek through the caves.

Enezra slept little and yet she felt as if she were dreaming. Everytime she woke to find another dozing in her small chamber she was half-frightened. So unused to company that she was certain none of it was real. Thorin’s snores added to her insomnia, loud yet in a way, melodic.

She sat up on her thin bedroll as she sensed the approaching morning. The dwarf, a king so he claimed, had wrapped himself in his cloak across the small expanse of floor. He slept soundly despite his foreign surroundings. She yawned as she pushed herself to her feet, the thought of the journey ahead waking her entirely.

During the night, half her wakefulness had been due to her endless thoughts. Trying to think of the best way out of the caves. There were several, one close to her little hole, yet it would have him even further from his mountain. That which would be most convenient to his return home was a week away, if not two. She figured it was the wisest choice.

She carefully placed her feet around the slumbering dwarf. She approached the fire and tossed in another log. She hung the kettle once more and backed away. She neared the table and took her mortar and pestle in hand. She crushed the walnuts into dust with all her strength and wrapped it in a linen filter. She dropped it in the bottom of the urn and waited for the water to boil.

Thorin was unaffected by her activity. She wiped clean two small wooden cups she had carved herself. The kettle whistled sharply, rousing her and her visitor both. She crossed to the hearth and removed it with a rag to protect her hand. She filled the urn, the water brewing to a deep an enticing brown. 

The dwarf sat up in a daze, wiping the sleep from his eyes as he rose with a grunt. He bent and folded his cloak over his arm, sitting in the stool he had occupied the night before as they had drank their tea in silence. As Ez waited for the walnut to percolate, she leaned on the stone table.

“We have far to go,” She said, “Even from where you fell, you’re still days away from your mountain. It will get colder on our path but the south will bring warmth. It is there we’ll find your escape.”

“Can’t you give me a map?” He asked as he peeked behind her at the scrolls atop the table “You seem to have plenty.”

“There are passages not found on my maps.” She pushed herself away from the table and removed the filter from the urn with a long spoon, “You will find your way quicker through these passages. And easier.”

“As you will,” He shrugged, “I am quite useless with a map anyhow. I merely thought to free you of my nuisance.”

“You be out fastest if you heed my advice. And you’ve a better chance of making it alive.” She said as she poured her concoction into the cups, “Drink this. It is good for the cold.” She pushed a cup towards him.

“What is it?”

“Walnut coffee.” She answered curtly as smelled the steam rising from her own cup, “We’ll eat before we’ll go. And I still need to pack. Best we prepare thoroughly for the road ahead.”

* * *

Enezra brought the lantern along with them. The dwarf had been tripping over his feet in the dark and she figured it would help them move smoothly through the corridors. She led him along easily, keeping track of her path in her head. It all came naturally but it was easy to make a mistake down here.

Few words passed between dwarf and greenling. Their footsteps were the only noise they left in their stead. Though she knew his name, Ez still thought of him as a stranger. He was, truly; she couldn’t trust him as much as he couldn’t here. Yet, she dreaded a path ahead filled with tense silence. The days would drag by and soon grow interminable if they continued thus.

“The orc,” She rasped, her words half-stuck. She adjusted the straps of her pack and cleared her throat. “You killed him.”

“He would have killed me,” He returned, “Besides, a dead orc is a safe orc.”

“I know well of orcs,” She asserted, “They are worse than any other…down here, there are none. Safer than dead.”

“The lowest of creatures would not inhabit so dreary a world,” He commented but regret dulled the last of his words. “I didn’t mean it–”

“I know what you meant,” Ez grumbled, “I’ve chosen this life. I know what it is.” She fidgeted with the lantern as she switched hands, “When you ran into that beast, were you alone?”

“I was with my men,” He answered, taking the lantern from her though not unkindly. He held it higher, lending more light to the cavern ahead. “They’re awaiting my return in Erebor. Are you certain this is the shortest path?”

“Certain,” She confirmed, “There are few tenable ways out of here, the one we are taking is arduous but will not be the end of us.”

Thorin shivered and she held her tongue. He had refused a scarf before their departure and now pulled up the hood of his cloak. She thought of offering her own but she gathered his refusal was due to his innate dwarven obstinance. Of the few dwarves she had known before, she had found it to quite often be their downfall.

“If we keep to our course, we should make good progress,” Ez said, “As I mentioned earlier, we’ll have a warm night if we keep to schedule. A reprieve before those to come. The north passages hold nights which turn all to ice.”

“Can I see the map again?” He asked. “The route you laid out earlier seems most unnecessary.”

“As I said,” Ez pulled out the map from her hide jacket and handed it over, “There are corridors which are no longer accessible; much like that you brought crashing down just yesterday.”

“Just let me see it,” He took with his free hand and let the paper unfold, “You said the south west corner is where I can leave?”

“Well, south east is an option but would have you further from your mountain,” She explained, “I’ve offered to show you out of these tunnels but you can still opt to lose yourself here instead.”

“Hmmp,” He shoved the map back towards her, “Let’s hope we do stay on course.”


	5. Thorin/Enezra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Enezra make their first stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I appreciate any and all feedbacks. Comments would really help me keep going especially since my blog is pretty much dying due to the new Tumblr guidelines.

**FIVE | THORIN**

Thorin walked beside the small woman. Any conversation between them had died hours ago. Even so, he could not claim discomfort. The certainty in her step reassured him. She had a way of looking around as if she could see what he could not. Even as the lantern dimmed, she did not falter. Her jade irises saw everything. Her pointed nose guided them onward, her shadow cameoed against the stone walls.

Distant baying sounded from behind them. The dulling light lent an ominous tone to the howls but Enezra did not flinch. She carried on, raising her hand and trailing it over the stone wall as she felt it carefully. She bit her lip as she search, stopping as her fingers caught and her mouth twitched as if she were want to smile. She waved him closer as he held the lantern, illuminating a triangle carved into the wall.

“We’re close,” She announced, “These symbols are for navigation. A few I made myself, others were here before me.”

Without further explanation, she turned and continued further beyond the circle of lantern light.  Thorin could see the black outline of her figure as she walked ahead of him. A new determination had taken hold of her as their destination for the night seemed close.

She turned the next corner, Thorin still a few feet back. The air grew warmer as he entered the subsequent corridor, thicker even. The change was welcome but peculiar. Humidity seeped through his cloak as they got further. The walls were no longer coated with frost but weeping with moisture.

Enezra stopped again. Her hands on the wall as they were whenever she discovered something. She slipped them in a crack and began to wrestle with a stone door which stood almost imperceptible in the wall. It shifted and the small woman grunted. Thorin bent to set aside the lantern and helped her dislodge the door with a grind. As the stone moved inward suddenly, Thorin found himself close to falling; catching his balance on the heavy block.

“Thank you,” Ez said quietly. The gratuity held the tone of one not used to accepting help. One who had lived so long upon her own that it was almost shameful to need it. “Come on then.”

She stepped inside and Thorin retrieved the lantern, shining it after her as he peered into the chamber. A burst of warmth caught him as he followed her warily. Another doorway mirrored that he had entered on the other side of the chamber. A cloud of steam seeped from its mouth, filling the space with moisture. Within, Thorin guessed, was the source of the unusual heat.

He turned to close the door behind them. Enezra approached and took the lantern from him wordlessly, setting it atop a flat rock before unveiling a torch from its other side. She lit the torch from the lamp’s flame and hooked it into a nook upon the opposite wall. She shed her pack as she neared the lantern and blew out its light.

“It’ll save us oil for tomorrow.” She explained. “A small fire for tea and dinner should be all we need.” She continued and neared the next door, “If you would,” She waved him over.

He untangled his small haversack from beneath his cloak and approached her. She stepped halfway into the next chamber and motioned his attention within. He peeked inside, the torchlight offering enough of a glow to guide his eyes. An ovaline crater stood centre, filled to the brim with babbling water. Here the steam was even thicker. It was a fantastical peculiarity in the grim underground.

“A hot spring.” She said. There were similar wells hidden beneath Erebor; those warmed the gargantuan mountain. “It will offer us warmth for the night before we once more venture through the cold. If you should like to wash, I can fashion another torch. It may be your last chance; surely your last taste of comfort for a few days.”

“How did you find this place?” He asked. “How long exactly have you been down here?”

Ez looked away and edged by him. She did not answer as she approached her pack. “There is work to do if we are to eat. If you wish to use the spring, you will have to wait until after we sup.”

Thorin sighed quietly as he watched her remove her cloak and tuck it behind her pack. His own followed as he felt sweat building along his back. He was growing impatient with her evasive manner. She told him little and less. It was as if he were a child to her. Perhaps, he hadn’t been so forthcoming himself but he had tried. They were traveling together and it would make the road easier.

She pulled two cups from her pack and bowls to match. She retrieved a pail in the corner of the chamber and slung its rope handle on her arm. “There’s a well down the next corridor. I’ll fetch water for tea and start supper. Potato stew with not much else.” She frowned to herself as she approached the door. This time, she moved it easier than the last. She slipped out and Thorin pressed his lips together as he waited for her return.

* * *

 

**ENEZRA**

Enezra scraped the last spoonful of thin stew from the wooden bowl. The dwarf hadn’t even bothered to use a utensil, instead gulping from the rim directly. She didn’t judge him. His kind was known for their hearty appetites. She herself had conditioned herself to subsist on a minimum; her people were known for their resilience and resourcefulness. Yet, it could not save them from threats beyond their environment; those with a will.

She stood and set her bowl in the empty bucket, offering to take Thorin’s with a gesture. “I’ll rinse these and fetch more water for the night,” He let her take the dish as she spoke, “I’ll put the kettle on while you get cleaned up...if you so wish.”

“Do us dwarves smell so rank?” He raised a brow at her.

“I did not mean that,” She answered repentantly, placing his bowl atop her, clunking them together as she lifted the bucket.

“I was joking,” He said, rising slowly with hushed grunt. He gripped his lower back and exhaled. “Perhaps the spring would loosen my muscles.”

“...Perhaps,” She nodded her head and stepped away from him. Right next to her, he seemed even bigger. She was a small creature and even a dwarf made her seem minuscule. “I shall return shortly.”

Ez scurried to the door like the mouse she felt. The heat receded from her face as she entered the stony corridor, retracing the path to the small well hidden in a nook of the wall. It was easily missed if one didn’t know where to look for it. She removed the bowls from the bucket and attached it to the rope; another year and it would fray to nothing.

She drew up a pailful of water and submerged the bowls within. She scrubbed away the remnants of potato and broth, her hand numb from the frigid water. It came from far beneath the caves, untouched by the spring only feet away. She emptied the bucket across the ground and refilled it with fresh water, tucking the bowls under her arm as she precariously carried the pail back to the hidden chamber.

She entered with her head down, setting aside the water and closing the door. As she turned, she spotted Thorin through the steam leaking in from the next chamber. His back was bare, his flesh marked with a crisscross of aged scars; his muscle taut beneath. She looked away guiltily and took back the pail, moving closer to the fire where she could not peer through the doorway. It was only a back, she reminded herself. Still it felt like a violation. Scars were sacred; their stories were revered and often untold.

She filled the kettle and hung it above the fire, feeding more sticks into the flames. She sat and pulled her pack closer, pulling out the small book from beneath her rations. Its bound leather was faded and cracked; the pages chewed by the teeth of time. She opened it carefully, the spine offering little resistance. A list of names marked with ancient runes ran the length of the first page; she knew them all. The last was her own. She traced the lines and dots, closing her eyes as she cradled the book.

She did not count the seconds, nor the minutes, but her meditation was broken by the splash of water, the sound of wet footsteps against stone. She must have sat for a while. The kettle was trembling fiercely and she tucked away her book. She removed the vessel from the flames as the tinkling of buckles and mail brushed against wool and fur. She set out two cups and the mesh bags she used to steep her herbs. She poured the boiling water and inhaled the steam which rose from the depths.

Thorin emerged from the next chamber. He brushed through his damp hair with one hand, his cloak and mail draped over his other arm. He spread his cloak beneath him as he sat on the ground across from her. She removed the mesh from a cup and slid it over to him wordlessly. He thank her and pulled it closer before continuing his fight with the knots in his thick locks. The silence permeated as the steam seeped into the hems of their tunics.

“Your turn,” His deep voice jolted her.

“What?” She asked.

“The spring,” He said as he lifted his cup and sniffed at the tea, “It’s yours. I’m sure you could use a soak as much as myself.”

Her lips made an ‘o’ but no sound emerged. She nodded and sipped from her cup. Thorin’s blue eyes made her nervous, especially when they were set so constantly in her direction. Her orange hair fell forward as she kept her nose to her tea. It was her only shield against the mighty dwarf.


	6. Thorin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin tries to figure out Enezra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I appreciate any and all feedbacks. Thanks to any and all reading this series :)

Thorin woke on his back. Despite soaking in the hot spring, his shoulders had tightened up in his sleep; his fur-trimmed cloak his only padding atop the stone. He rolled onto his side with an involuntary grunt. He was growing tired of the smell of dirt and stone; he couldn’t fathom how the small woman could live thus for so long. He couldn’t even guess at how long she had been in the caves.

He looked across at her as he sat up, trying to stretch the aches from his back. She was curled up atop her thin bedroll; it was barely thicker than his cloak. Most of her clothing was patched and well-worn; her hide jacket couldn’t be much solace against the chill of the caverns, he thought. He fiery red hair stretched out in curly flames around her head and she breathed rhythmically in slumber.

Enezra claimed to be a greenling, but he still couldn’t be sure for himself. A halfling so long in solitary among the depths was want to go mad. She could as easily be a lunatic leading him to his demise. Yet, she had done nothing to earn his distrust, only that she had treated him with her own. Standoffish and wary of him, she kept her distance, held her tongue. Even so, she had fed and sheltered him and while the circumstance was less than cozy, it was a mark of integrity. Were she a dwarf, she would be honoured for showing such hospitality, especially towards a king.

Thorin pulled his boots closer and shoved his feet inside, carefully lacing them before he rose. His joints didn’t crack as they did most mornings but he felt the strain nonetheless. In the few years since his return to Erebor, he had sensed his age, felt it creeping up on him. Ever since he had stopped moving, he had notice the small changes. Others couldn’t count the new greys or feel the softening of his muscles, but he did.

He was still strong but there was a new layer of flesh formed from extra servings of roast beef and an excess of dwarvish ale. And the remnants of his wounds lingered; the scars left by Azog. He had traced the raised skin along his chest just the night before where the orc’s curved sword had nearly taken his life. He should not have been alive. He had been content to bleed out on the ice for all his sins. But he hadn’t.

He searched in the dim of the cave, trying to push away his tragic memories. The fire hadn’t been fed for the warmth of the spring next door. He searched out the pail left beside the pit and took it quietly, careful not to bother the sleeping woman. He walked as if he were stalking his enemy, slowly dislodging the door so that it did not scrape and grind so loudly.

At first, he had gone the wrong way and had to turn back. He eventually did find the well and filled the pale, careful not to break the thinning rope. He carried it back to small cavern, a skittering greeting him from within. It was not the rats he had expected but Enezra packing away her bedroll. She was rarely the last to wake.

“Had it not been for the cloak,” She nodded to his cloak still strewn along the stone, “I would have thought you gone off to find your own way.”

“I haven’t any hope of doing so,” He set aside the pale to replace the door before carrying it over to the pit. “I am patient and…” He mulled his words as he knelt beside the fire, assembling kindling beneath a tent of sticks, “I do appreciate you showing me the way out. I’d be lost without you.”

She stood straight and looked over her shoulder at him, her red hair standing out wildly around her head. It was thicker even than Thorin’s, her curls had a mind as enigmatic as her own. She began to tug at the knots hidden among her locks and watched his hands as he started a fire. She secured her hair as best she could with a hide tie and turned to retrieve a pair of cups from her pack. She took out the small tin of grounds from the front pocket and prepared them for brewing.

“We won’t be so lucky today,” She said as she set out the cups, “We’ll be heading to colder corners. It would be best to be alert; there are beasts there which do not abide the passing of time. Always awake, always hunting.” She filled the kettle with water and hung it over the fire, “Thank you for fetching the water.”

“Not at all,” He sat on his cloak, bending a knee before him and leaning his crossed arms over it, “I didn’t get too lost.”

“Good,” She commented evenly as she searched her pack for their morning rations.

She did not have much to offer but Thorin accepted it graciously. He took the handful of nuts and dried fruit she gave him, a sudden thought seizing him. He was so forgetful. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and laid the medley atop it before he reached for his haversack. He took out the small sachet within and smiled at the bulk within.

“I have some dried venison,” He loosened the drawstring and took out a thick strip of salted meat.

“Keep it for yourself,” She bit into a nut with a crunch, “You need it more than I.”

“Nonsense, you have fed me thus far, let me return the favour,” He insisted and she shook his head as she popped another nut into her mouth. “Enezra,” He said boldly, “Take one.”

He stood and crossed to her, holding out the sachet. She looked up at him and to the bag of jerky. Slowly she relented and her small fingers took a strip from the bunch. “Thank you,” She said quietly, examining the venison as he sat back down. She spun it in her fingers and inhaled its gamey scent. “It’s Ez,” She corrected him gently.

“My apologies,” He said. “Ez.”

She nodded and bit into the jerky, her eyes on her boots. They were marred with dirt and scuffs; the remnants of fur barely hanging onto the hide. The laces of one were long gone and the sole of the other had been sewn and re-sewn many times. Thorin looked down at his leather boots, their fur mantle thick and silver buckles reflecting the flames of the pit. If they were to venture into colder corridors, he wasn’t so worried for himself.

“We shall leave once we have finished our breakfast,” She instructed, “I would recommend you ready your sword, we cannot know what we may run into.”

“My sword is always ready,” He returned, “And what how should you ready yourself? Surely that dull knife does little to scare off predators.”

“It kept you at bay,” She shrugged as she removed the trembling kettle from over the fire, “And it is not my only weapon.”

She poured the hot water over the mesh strainers atop the mugs and the scent of walnut rose through the cave. Thorin watched her closely, trying to spot another means of defense upon her person. All he could find was the knife in its leather sheath. Its worn handle foretold of its chipped and aged blade and his eyes strayed to her large pack.

She had prepared well for the journey but he wondered if she had girded herself against him. He could not blame the small woman. He felt overgrown next to her, though she was not entirely a waif. Beneath her jacket, she was curved as any of her sex was, and she was much stronger than her appearance would suggest. He witnessed her strength himself.

He pushed his hair out of his face and she removed the filter from a mug before passing it over to him. “Do you have gloves?” She asked, “If not, you should wrapped your hands else you should lose a finger.” She warned as she took her own coffee in hand. Thorin squinted and slowly looked away from her. She was the most peculiar creature he had ever met.


	7. Enezra/Thorin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enezra and Thorin face the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't think I'd get this out today but here it is. Hopefully it holds you over until I get some actual work done :) As always, I appreciate any and all feedback.

## Enezra

These corridors were the blackest among the labyrinth. So dark that the cold permeated every inch, bit at any that dared to enter. Only the frost wolves and snow cats ventured this far.. Enezra walked beside the dwarf, his wool wrapped hand holding up the low-burning lamp. Even she could not see more than three feet ahead of them.

She traced their path with her hand. Her woven gloves were as little protection as her patched cloak but she was used to the cold. She swallowed back each shiver which threatened to trickle down her spine. It was years ago that she had marked these passages; carved the symbols into stone. The first a warning, the rest directions. If any but her were foolish enough to chance them, they’d at least have a chance to make it through.

There had been another route to take until the dwarf had collapsed the roof in. It was longer but less treacherous and much less frigid. As it was, this was more direct and quicker. The sooner she was free of the dwarf, the better. She could go about her life as she had done for years. Alone. Free of his judgement.  _What right did he have anyway?_  He lived in a mountain; not so different from her caverns.

She tucked her free hand into her jacket pocket. Her fingers were growing numb and the cold had seeped through her scarf, nipping at her cheeks. She had long run out of wool to weave more cloth and her mending had done little to reinforce her fraying attire. She mourned the warmth of the spring, tempted to turn back. Perhaps upon her return she would visit it again.

“What is that?” The dwarf caught her elbow, holding her back as a low growl pierced the dark. She was shocked by his touch and he quickly released her as she flinched. She had been alone for countless decades. She hadn’t encountered another in as many, let alone felt the warmth of their hands.

“Shh,” She raised her finger, “Frost wolves. This is their territory and it is birthing season. They will be protecting their young.”

“Frost wolves?” He scoffed. “I’ve read of those in storybooks...as a child.”

She looked at him in the low lantern light. He was mocking her, she realized as she narrowed her eyes. He didn’t believe she was a greenling, he thought her a maddened halfling hiding in the caves in her delirium. She snarled and turned the corridor before, the shadow of a furried tail at the end of it. The beast was circling, trying to block their way.

Enezra unbuttoned the top her jacket, letting in the chill as she reached for her sling. She pulled a perfectly rounded rock from the pouch at her belt and set it in the leather. Thorin did not see the subtle movement, his sight and senses shrouded by the dark eating away at the lamplight. He only watched with unveiled concern as she stepped ahead of him, speaking in the ancient tongue to the animal growling menacingly at them.

“We are not here to harm you. We only seek to pass through.” She said to the wolf. Its growl grew deeper, teeth bared. “We have no ill-intent. Your young are safe from us.”

She heard the large paws edge closer, the rumbling warning still in effect. “Ez,” Thorin warned. She clutched her sling and felt the cold nose touch her finger tips, sniffing at her. “I have never harmed your kind. Let not our truce end here.”

The wolf nudge her hand and retreated, turning warily back as her growl died in the air. Ez watched her turn the next corner, returning to her young sleeping in some hidden nook. The greenling exhaled and turned back to her companion, a shadow looming behind him.

“Duck,” She hissed as the screech of a snow cat rose. Thorin did so with confusion and she swung her sling, loosing the stone into the jaw of the pouncing predator. The snow cat whimpered as it fell back and Ez took another stone, flinging it in quick succession. “Go.” She shouted, a third stone following, “Now.”

Stinging from the pelt of rocks, the snow cat retreated. Thorin straightening up as he shone the lamp in its direction. Its silver fur reflected the flame just before it faded back into the dark. 

“We should hurry,” Ez advised as she turned back to their path, “The ruckus will only bring more.”

He nodded and quietly followed, falling into step next to her. The silence which ensued was thick, filled with the words he longed to say. “What is it?” She prompted gruffly.

“What did you say to the wolf? How did it understand you?” He asked.

“Oh, did you not read of my kind in your storybooks? Of our earthly ways and natural tongues?” She taunted.

“Greenlings died out at least a century ago,” Thorin argued.

“You don’t have to believe me. I am what I am regardless of your opinion.” She shrugged. “But I know these corridors and I will get you out.”

She sensed his gaze on her. His eyes lingering as he considered her contemptuous tone. “Thank you.” He finally said. “For saving me.”

“I didn’t save you,” She countered, “I saved me. Snow cats are not so easily reasoned with.”

She led him down the next corridor, trying to hide the fierce shiver which threatened. As her adrenaline waned, the cold returned to her bones. She peeked over at the dwarf’s thick cloak, lined with fur and made of thick black hide. She envied him for just a second before peeling her attention back to their journey. The quicker they were free of these corridors, the sooner she’d be warm again.

* * *

 

## Thorin

“In here,” Enezra stopped at yet another of her hidden chambers. “It is late. I thought we’d be further by now, but the night only brings more beasts. We best set up camp for the night.”

“You don’t come here often, do you?” He wondered as she shifted the narrow door. She slipped through but Thorin had to turn sideways to enter.

“Not in years,” She assured him, “But there is no one else down here to disturb it.” She took the lamp from him and crossed to a small chest hidden in the far corner of the chamber. She pulled forth three torches, lighting one as she lifted it and turned back to illuminate her sight. “Damn it.”

Half the ceiling had fallen to rubble and only a small space remained to them. They were so far down that the avalanche blocked any trace of the outside above. She set her torch between two stones to stand in the corner and lit another one for the opposite corner. A pit of ash remained and a spit stood over it, long-unused. Thorin watched as Enezra took a bundle from the other side of the small chest. She unwrapped the linen to reveal three thick logs and a bale of long sticks.

“It should last us the night,” She explained as she set to arranging the kindling.

He watched her hands as they shivered and she tried not to fumble the logs. She removed her gloves, tucking them away. Her fingertips had turned bright red even through the wool. He realized how thin her clothing truly was. Her cloak was threadbare and her jacket offered little protection from the chill they had been walking through all day.

Thorin glanced down at his cloak. It was a king’s cloak; thick and fur-trimmed. It was one of many he owned back in Erebor. His tunic and coat were just as luxurious and his boots had new soles; Enezra’s barely clung to her worn hide boots. Even through all this, the dwarf had felt frigid cut of the cold. The woman, in much less, didn’t even complain.

“T-tea,” She frowned as she chattered against her will. She sniffed and search through her pack. “It should warm us up while we wait for our dinner.” She took out the kettle and filled it from her canteen. She hung it on the spit as she took out her small pot, a strip of rabbit jerky, some leeks, and a single bent carrot. He wondered where she came by all this in these barren depths.

“Can I help?” He offered as he knelt beside her, pulling forth his knife and taking the carrot before she could answer. He cut it into fine slices and added to the bits of jerky she was tossing into the pot. She nodded in gratitude and they carried on in silence until they finished.

The kettle trembled and whistled and she poured the tea as she had the nights before. The rest of the water she added to the pot and hung it in place of the kettle. As she sat back atop her feet, a poorly concealed effort to warm them, Thorin handed her a cup, hoping it would turn her reddened fingertips back to their natural honey tone.

“Thanks,” She looked away abashed. She was more clever than she let on and realized what the dwarf was doing. He didn’t know himself why he was so concerned. She had lived down here long enough; survived the cold before.

Few more words passed between them as they awaited their evening meal. He recalled the harsh tones they had exchanged earlier. He shouldn’t have mocked her as he had done but she really didn’t have much of a sense of humour. He felt even guiltier knowing that she had saved him.

The stew was thin but tasty nonetheless. Thorin drank hungrily, watching the girl as she tried to hide her eager gulps. When she finished, she set aside her bowl and pulled her cloak tighter to her figure as she leaned against the wall, legs bent to her chest.

“It’ll be an early morning,” She said, “We should sleep. Put another log on the fire before you do.”

The chamber was so cramped that the fire took up most of its area; neither had enough room to lay down with the pile of rocks closing them in. Thorin stood from the other side of the pit, setting the last log into it. He turned to where Enezra sat against the wall, her eyes closed as she leaned her head back.

He unclasped his cloak as he neared her. He lowered himself beside her, spreading it over both of them as he sat. Her eyes snapped open as she looked over and pushed away his fur cloak. “I’m alright,” She insisted, “Please, it’s yours.”

“It’s big enough for the both of us,” He returned, shoving it back over her knees, “How well do you think you’ll sleep with the cold still in you?”

She sighed, staring him down as she slowly ran her fingers along the fur trim. “Are you sure?”

“As long as you don’t mind sharing,” He replied.

She nodded and let him put the cloak over her, tugging it up over her shoulders herself. “Thank you,” She said quietly. He could see her shame at accepting his courtesy. He wondered how long it was since any had offered her more than the sharp tip of their fang or blade.

“Not at all,” He assured her. He noticed as how she made sure not to lean against him; keeping three inches between them. As if she feared to touch him. She would be warmer if she let him closer but he would not argue further with the obstinate girl.

Thorin closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. He was tired. Another day of cold was ahead of them and he relished the night of sleep ahead. A brief reprieve from the grimness of these cave. One day closer to the Mountain.


	8. Enezra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cold is setting in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I adore any and all comments and feedback! It's nice to hear from those who read my stuff and it helps with writing. Thanks to all you loverlies. <3

Enezra woke to the smell of smoke and warmth all around her. Her nose twitched as she opened her eyes, the fire a dying shade of amber. She lifted her head from its unusual pillow, her chin tickled by the fur across her shoulders. She realized the heat radiating along her side and through her was not her own. The dwarf’s snores carried through the small space, his dark hair a curtain around his face as he dozed leaned against the wall.

She didn’t remember how she had come to slumber flush against him, his shoulder beneath her head as they shared his large cloak. When they had fallen asleep, she had been careful to keep her distance. Slowly, she sat up, careful not to jostle or wake him. It was better that way as she could feel a sudden tingle in her cheeks and she’d not have him awake to notice too. She let the cloak fall down his side as she left its cozy protection, a shiver catching her almost immediately.

She knelt by the fire and stirred the fading embers. There was nothing left to keep them glowing. All the better, for the longer they tarried the worse it would be. Ez held her fingertips close to the dying pit and replaced her patched gloves. She looked over at the dwarf, his features surprisingly placid through the shanks of hair framing his face. He often did little more than growl in his waking moments.

She rose and tore her attention away from the dwarf. She neared her pack sat against the same wall as the lost king. She stirred around and found the leather pouch she had kept hidden; untouched. It would have to do.

“Morning,” The dwarf greeted groggily, his sudden movement almost frightening her. “I think…”

“Close enough,” She assured as she replaced the flap of her pack and stood with her packet, weighing it doubtfully. “We best get going before long. The less time we spend in these parts, the better.” She neared Thorin, careful not to get so close, and lowered herself to her knees, “Long enough spent in the cold and it starts to get to you. It slows the mind...and body.”

“Not so bad,” He shrugged, his cloak falling down to his knees, “I never did mind the winters so much in Erebor.”

“I doubt those winters were ever so bitter as the Hollows,” She grumbled, loosening the pouch, “Here; breakfast.”

She offered the mouth of the packet and the dwarf held out his thick hand, the lines darkened with the dust of stone. She poured him a generous handful of granola; nuts and dried fruits mixed with baked oats. He tilted his head, eyeing it curiously. He must have wondered where she found anything in these rocky barrens.

“We’ve no fuel for the fire so this is all I could muster,” She explained as she emptied what was left of the granola into her hand, sitting back on her feet to pick at it.

“Is that what you call this place? The Hollows?” He asked before shoveling some oats into his mouth.

“It is. It’s nothing but a husk here. There’s not much living, and that which is, is more like to bring you death,” She avoided his gaze as she chewed. She wasn’t yet used to being looked at; not used to the company of another. She almost preferred the frost wolves.

“So why do you stay?” The dwarf asked after a moment of silence filled only with the sound of chewing. “It’s miserable down here.”

“Not all of it,” She snapped at him, taken aback by the interrogation “There are beauties down here you couldn’t imagine; a world far beyond anything you’ve ever--” She stopped herself, sighing before she tossed the last of her granola into her mouth. She stood, wiping her gloves on her pants. “This is my home,” She said through a mouthful, “As your mountain is yours.”

The king stayed silent as he watched her. Enezra packed up the bowls they had used the night before and secured the flap of her pack. She kept her back to him, not wanting him to see her irritation. He couldn’t understand why she stayed; never would.  _What did he know?_  He was a dwarf with a crown who sat on his throne and was never denied.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” He said quietly.

She sensed him rise, stepping close to her. She could hear the rustle of his cloak and the clink of its loose buckles. He was beside her and she watched from the corner of her eye as he set aside his cloak and started to unbutton the shining buttons of his thick overcoat.

“What are you doing?” She turned on him suddenly, backing away inherently. He was closer than she thought.

“I have my cloak. It is more than enough. You’ll take my coat.” He sounded as much a king as he claimed, brooking no argument. But she was not one of his dwarves.  _Was she so pathetic?_  She had survived for years in these tunnels without him and she would do so for many more long after he was gone.

“No,” She replied staunchly, retreating further. “I will not. It is your coat. You need it.”

“Not as much as you,” He insisted, “You and your patched cloak and gloves.”

“I apologize if I do not dress to your standard, your majesty,” She snarled, “But I do not need nor want your charity. I am quite comfortable in what I have.”

His hands stopped working, his coat hung open to the middle of his torso. A thick tunic of dark blue cotton with silver edging peeked through. His blue eyes flared as he looked down at her, caught somewhere between exasperation and surprise. He blinked, inhaling through his large nose before he spoke.

“It is not charity. You’ve done more for me than a simple coat is worth. I am trying to thank you, Enezra.” She could hear the restraint in his voice as he tried to keep from booming in the small space. It was almost terrifying to hear him speak so loudly; his kind were so gruff.  _Barbaric_ , as her people had learned many times before.

“Ez,” She corrected out of habit. “I don’t want your coat,” She turned her back to him and lifted her pack, looping it over her shoulder, “I don’t need your thank yous. I need you gone.” She regretted the words as they spilled from her. “The sooner,” she adjusted her pack as she made for the door, “The better.”


	9. Thorin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Ez ready for a new day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so here’s Thorin’s POV. I promise next chapter will be some forward progress but for now, character development is key…right? Anyways, thanks for reading and in advance to my loverlies, thank you for any and all comments/feedback. As always, it is appreciated.

Thorin was woken by a subtle shift of weight beside him. The sudden absence of warmth along his arm was disappointing. Keeping his breath measured, feigning the deep snores which told of his slumber. He watched through slitted eyelids as Enezra left the shelter of his cloak. She shivered as she rose, pulling her own patchy cloak tighter around her.

That night, he had slept better than any other spent in the dank caverns; even sat against the sharp stone wall. Having the peculiar woman so close had been oddly comforting. He had sat awake until she dozed off, slumping against his shoulder despite her waking reticence. Her slow breaths had lulled him into his own sleep but he dreamt of nothing but the stone and shadows which surrounded him.

Enezra’s wild orange hair poked out from beneath her wool cap as he watched her kneel beside the fire pit. Her curls danced as she held out her hands over the dying embers, pulling on her gloves with a sigh. She glanced over her shoulder and Thorin kept himself as still as possible, his hair hiding the twitch of his cheek. She considered him a moment, her discerning eyes stoking a heat along his forehead. She tore her gaze from him and slowly stood.

She crossed to her large pack, almost bigger than she was. It rested not far from the king and he was all too conscious of his every breath. She unclasped the flap and ruffled around inside, pulling forth a leather pouch.

“Morning,” Thorin decided to cease his charade before he was caught out. The woman flinched as her jade eyes rounded in surprise. “I think…” He japed; the caves showing no sign of sun or moon.

“Close enough,” She muttered as she replaced the flap of her pack and held aloft the pouch in her hand as if weighing it. “We best get going before long. The less time we spend in these parts, the better.” She came closer, but not too close, and dropped to her knees. “Long enough spent in the cold and it starts to get to you. It slows your mind…” Her eyes swirled with dread; memories of terrors untold. “...and body.”

“Not so bad,” He shrugged and his cloak slipped from his shoulders. “I never did mind winters so much in Erebor.”

“I doubt those winters were ever so bitter as the Hollows,” She growled, though it rivalled that of a mouse. “Here,” She loosened the drawstring of the pouch, offering its open mouth, “Breakfast.”

He raised his hand, so large next to hers, and she poured in a medley of oats, nuts, and dry fruit. He tilted his head at the surprising fare; down here, it was hard to think there would be fruits to be found, yet this woman seemed to possess some secret wellspring. Surely, she would never reveal the secrets of these caves to him, or her own. She was an enigma in herself; some wraith sent to lead him home...or to his end.

“We’ve no fuel for the fire so this is all I could muster,” She explained as she took her own handful of granola and sat back on her feet.

“Is that what you call this place?” Thorin asked, “The Hollows?” He tossed back some granola as he awaited her response.

“It is. It is nothing but a husk here.” She said solemnly, picking at the oats, “There’s not much living, and that which is, is more like to bring you death.” She chewed, her lips taut as she avoided his eyes. She was as meek as any critter and yet he had watched her fight off a snow cat without hesitation. She had saved his life but saw it as nothing more than her daily task.

“So, why do you stay?” Thorin wondered allowed before the silence grew unnerving. “It’s miserable down here.”

“Not all of it,” She snarled, her jades eyes sparking, “There are beauties down here you couldn’t imagine; a world far beyond anything you ever-” She caught herself before her anger could bloom. She sighed and dumped the last of granola in her mouth and stood, wiping her gloves on her pants. “This is my home,” She muttered as she chewed, “As your mountain is yours.”

Thorin was taken aback by her fury. He saw little from the woman but indifference and this sudden burst was almost amusing. She bent to gather her dishes and packed them up in her pack. She was making a point of not looking at him. Her shoulders were tensed in her irritation and he could feel her stolid wrath closing in on him.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” He said gently.

He stood, catching his cloak before it could fall beneath his feet. He came up beside her and set it aside, unbuttoning the thick coat he wore beneath it. Her jade eyes darted towards him, “What are you doing?” She asked sharply, taking a step back as if to readying for combat.

“I have my cloak. It is more than enough. You’ll take my coat.” He asserted. He felt awful watching her shiver in her tattered clothing. Her eyes flashed with defiance and narrowed on him. He was want to shudder as she glared at him.

“No,” She said evenly, stepping back further, “I will not. It is your coat. You need it.”

“Not as much as you,” He countered,”You and your patched cloak and gloves.”

“I apologize if I do not dress to your standard, your majesty,” She snapped, “But I do not need nor want your charity. I am quite comfortable in what I have.”

Thorin stopped fiddling with his buttons, caught between disbelief and guilt. He hadn’t meant to offend her, he had simply been trying to help. He realized he had only shamed her in his effort to reason with her. At the same time, he was annoyed at her stubbornness. He blinked, inhaling deeply as he considered her unwavering glare. Perhaps she  _was_  part dwarf.

“It is not charity. You’ve done more for me than a simple coat is worth. I am trying to thank you, Enezra.” He stated plainly, his own anger rising within himself. Her brows raised as if recognizing his restraint; challenging him further.

“Ez,” She corrected him pointedly. “I don’t want your coat.” She turned away from him before he could argue anon. She lifted her pack and hooked it over her shoulder, “I don’t need your thank yous. I need you gone,” She hissed. “The sooner, the better.” With that, she turned for the door, stomping as she wordlessly hurried his preparations.

Thorin had thought these caves couldn’t get much more frigid, but this woman was quickly proving him wrong.


End file.
